


diplomatic affairs

by contraryrhythm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Love/Hate, just a slight trace of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contraryrhythm/pseuds/contraryrhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke have a very complicated working relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	diplomatic affairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegrounders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrounders/gifts).



> Happy holidays to my dear giftee ughbloodybellamy! I saw you liked modern AU and smut so I tried to put in a bit of both. Hope you enjoy!

He always says that history repeats itself, that humanity is destined to revisit the mistakes of their predecessors. Clarke has never liked to believe it; she prefers hope to resignation. Surely human evolution has allowed us to learn from our past.

But with Bellamy Blake, she never learns.

She bites the end of the pen in her hand. It’s late, and she should be heading home instead of waxing poetic about her infuriating coworker, but she’s hardly motivated. At least the hallways and offices here are brightly lit so she can pretend to herself that she isn’t alone. Her apartment is cold, dark, and mercilessly straightforward in its emptiness. And why bother trading one solitary place for another?

Of course the office isn’t entirely empty. The glass walls of Clarke’s office just permit a partial view of the office diagonal to hers, where a dark-haired head is bowed over a binder and a legal pad. Bellamy and Clarke are always last in the building, working deep into the night. It’s unbelievable how two people can be so committed to the same ideals yet so fiercely opposed in methods. He glances over to his computer, and his face is illuminated by the bluish glow of the screen, all shadows and sharp angles.

Clarke looks away and sighs. They hated each other almost the moment they met, and though the past two years have translated dislike into respect, the monumental differences between them haven’t changed. They are diametrically opposed on everything from diplomatic policy to airline preferences. One day they’ll agree on a script for the environmental convention, perfectly in sync, and they’ll work together seamlessly, and she’ll feel certain that she can trust him with anything. On that day, they are friends, and even the word “friend” feels inadequate to describe their partnership of understanding. The next day they’re snarling at each other over the situation in the Middle East, and then they’re returned to glares and anger and frustration. By now the office is used to their wildly volatile relationship, because despite their differences—or perhaps because of them—Bellamy and Clarke are the most competent leadership they could ask for. As much as Clarke hates to admit it, their clashes of strategy force them to compromise and find the best possible solution. They are two sides of the same coin.

Clarke only realizes that she is staring at Bellamy again when he looks away from his computer and catches her eye. As their eyes meet, an inexplicable wave of heat sparks in her stomach, and then disappears so quickly that she could almost pretend it never happened. His eyes are dark and slightly narrowed; he’s still frustrated with her, that much she can tell. He looks away first and returns to his work.

She bites her lip, angry in return. Today they fought about the campaign in eastern Europe, aiming to alleviate the high levels of anti-American sentiment. It’s Clarke’s project, and she knows that it needs to be done, but Bellamy is stubbornly and vehemently opposed. He thinks it’ll make everything worse. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut, princess.” He first started calling her _princess_ a few months ago, because he says she lives in a fantasy world. As if empathy and diplomacy are unrealistic.

She shakes her head. He’s wrong, of course. And that isn’t even the worst of it. The roller coaster of unspoken understanding and razor-sharp tension between them has started to screw with Clarke’s mind. Despite all her boundaries and utter professionalism, she can’t help feeling something for Bellamy Blake. The intensity of passion for their beliefs is all-consuming, and whether they mesh or clash, that passion has forged an undeniable connection between them. She reminds herself to stay professional, but even then, her body betrays her. There’s something cruelly sensual about the way they glare across the desks and snap retorts at each other, or the way their hands brush when they’re adding notes on the same whiteboard.

Sometimes during their most heated arguments, there are angry pauses when for an instant she’s sure that he’s going to yank her body against his and slam his lips against hers. And part of her wants him to.

She can’t help but imagine his hands on her waist and her stomach pressed hard to his…his tongue in her mouth and her hand tangling in his dark hair. Of course he would be a good kisser, the cocky bastard. She thinks of him pushing her up against the wall and holding her wrists above her head with one hand, while the other hand ghosts across her stomach and then slides under her shirt to cup her breasts, thumb moving in small, agonizingly slow circles.

She’s breathing faster now, but she can’t seem to stop playing the scene in her head. He wouldn’t be a gentle lover, that’s for sure, but she wouldn’t mind. He would drag her skirt up and rip off her panties, smirking as he dropped them on the floor and slowly ran his fingers down from her stomach to the wetness of—

Clarke is jolted out of her fantasy by a knock on the door. When she looks up and sees Bellamy, she can feel her face flush, and she hopes he doesn’t notice. She takes a deep breath and gestures for him to come in.

He takes a step in and stands holding the door open, still looking angry, but this time with a touch of resignation.

“Hey, Clarke.”

“Hey, Bellamy,” she says warily. The images she just thought about don’t mean she’s going to give him any ground on their argument. A small voice in her brain mocks her: _Hey Bellamy, you’re completely wrong about Europe but in other news I’d really like you to fuck me hard over this desk._ She quickly tells that part of her brain to shut the hell up.

“Look, I just wanted to say, I think you were right today. And I’m sorry for being a dick about it.” He sighs, a short exhalation of frustration. “I still don’t like it, but it needed to be done.”

Clarke hardly knows what to say. She knows that he hates apologizing, and he’s never apologized to her before. Why now?

“I understood where you were coming from,” she says stiffly. Then her voice softens slightly. “And thanks, seriously. But I know that the way we argue is just our way of figuring things out.”

“Yeah.” There’s a moment of silence, and then he shakes his head. “I still think you’re going to screw up the Ireland project if you keep going this direction though.”

Her eyes narrow. “Bellamy, _my_ plan is the only one that makes any sense! If you had any idea of—” She stops talking and puts her pen down deliberately to distract herself from the anger surging back through her. “You know what, we can argue about this tomorrow. Truce tonight?”

He grins. “Yeah, okay. You want to get some food?”

She glances at the clock: 11:37pm. Whatever, there’s a bunch of places that are open late.

“Sure. How about the usual?”

“Ramen? Done and done.”

She can’t help smiling as she grabs her purse and coat. Tomorrow they’ll be at each other’s throats again, but for tonight, they are nations at peace. They are both enemies and allies, and that dichotomy is part of who they are together.

The roller coaster will continue. History will repeat itself. And maybe in this case, that’s all right. He is the lesson she never learns—and she never wants to.


End file.
